Flashbacks and Frosting
by Banoffee Macdonald
Summary: After an evening of explosions and fire, Sam's long forgotten memories of Helmand come flooding back with vengeance. With Dylan worrying for her mental state he invites her to spend the night on the boat. Later she is awoken from a peaceful sleep by banging and clattering. What's going on? What's that noise? And most importantly, why can she smell vanilla icing?


After an evening of explosions and fire, Sam's long forgotten memories of Helmand come flooding back with a vengeance. With Dylan worrying for her mental state he invites her to spend the night on the boat. Later, she is awoken from a peaceful sleep by banging and clattering coming from another part of the boat. What's going on? What's that noise? and most importantly, why can she smell vanilla icing?

_A Hurt/Comfort oneshot set in an AU continuing on from S33 Ep1 after the massive RTC and oil tanker explosion._

* * *

All of the noise, the sights, the explosions, it was too much for her. Collapsing down on a bench she held her head in her hands. She was exhausted. Her body completely spent, but her mind very much awake. Flashbacks to her time in Helmand ran through her head. She felt like a small child watching an x-rated movie, every scene becoming more and more terrifying.

Bombs exploded around her. Screams of civilians and soldiers alike echoed through her ears. The direct sunlight scorched her pale skin. The harsh Afghan dust stung her eyes making them water heavily. She wanted to scream but no sound would come out.

"Sam?"

A hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice pulled her out of her nightmares. It was only then that she felt the waterfall of tears on her face. She was crying. Gently, her tears were wiped away by a soft thumb. With her watery vision now cleared she took in the figure crouched in front of her.

Worry was etched over Dylan's face as he slowly wiped away Sam's tears. His disheveled appearance making him look even more so. She could tell that he hadn't stopped all night. His green jumpsuit, the top half tied messily around his waist, was littered with marks from both dirt and blood. The sweat from the heat of the explosion had won a battle against Dylan's normally tidy hair which was now stuck out at all angles, as if he had only recently pulled himself out of bed.

"What's wrong?" His soft voice contrasted with the loud, nightmarish thoughts still ringing through her mind. She shook her head. Her pride convincing her that she needed to appear strong to the person currently crouching down in front of her. Admitting her fears would make her weak. She was Sam Nicholls for God's sake, the ED action girl. People had always told her she was brave, reckless, confident. She couldn't be something as childish as weak and scared, could she?

"Please Samantha, tell me."

His gentle words, the use of her full name, sent her over the edge. A fresh flood of tears began to fall as Sam collapsed onto her ex-husband's shoulder. His hand rubbed her back soothingly until she regained her composure. With her last scrap of determination she began.

"It was... I was... felt like... back in..." She tried but the words just wouldn't come out. She looked up at Dylan to find him watching her closely. She wanted him to understand. He deserved to understand. To understand why he had walked out of the ED to find his usually calm and composed ex-wife crying her eyes out in fear for no apparent reason.

"Helmand."

The word came out as a whisper, so quiet that she could barely hear herself say it. Only moments passed before warm arms pulled her in tightly against him, her face resting in it's once familiar place in the nook of his neck.

"I thought I was back in in Helmand."

* * *

After some calm words of comfort from an unusually gentle Dylan, Sam found herself accepting an invitation to spend the night on Dylan's boat. His words hinting that maybe he still cared.

"You shouldn't be alone after a night like this."

* * *

It was strange to see the place Dylan now called home. Everything looked different at a first glance but a second look meant she began to see little things that she knew. The bookshelf piled messily with medical journals. The old throw lying over his favourite armchair. The coffee pot sat in it's place beside the kettle, ready to be grabbed and used at short notice. This was Dylan.

"The bedroom is through here. I'll find you something to wear then you can get some sleep, you look like you need it."

She followed him into his bedroom, standing awkwardly in the door as he rummaged through drawers. A few minutes he turned back to her, a t shirt and pair of shorts in hand. Sam took them and changed in the bathroom, too tired to question why Dylan still had her old clothes hidden in his drawer.

Dylan hadn't appeared out his bedroom when Sam was ready so she wandered back into the living area alone. A pile of neatly folded blankets lay beside a basket of clean looking clothes. Taking a few, she began to arrange the sofa's cushions into a bed.

"What on earth are you doing?"

She turned towards the voice. Dylan was leaning against the doorframe in his pyjamas; his old shorts and an open flannel shirt. His arms were loosely crossed over his middle as he watched her closely.

"You do know that there's a proper bed in here right? And it isn't like we haven't slept together before."

Sam placed the cushions back in their original places. A proper bed did sound nice.

* * *

A deafening clatter jerked Sam awake from her finally peaceful sleep. Sitting upright her eyes darted around the barely lit bedroom for the source. Nothing. She could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage like a hammer, her mind racing at 100 miles an hour with possible scenarios. Had Dylan's dog knocked something over? Had something just faltered with the boat? Each new possibility was making her more and more anxious.

Another clatter and a muffled voice drew her attention immediately to the bedroom door. A sliver of light snaked its way under the door crack indicating the presence of someone behind it.

"Oh God" whispered Sam, panic filling her voice. Her brain finally came to a frightening conclusion: a burglar had broken in. Now if this was during the day then she would instantly have marched into the living area and taken on the intruder herself but this was in the night. Her strong phobia of darkness mixed with the evening's previous events and the sudden presence of the intruder situation had caught Sam off guard. As much as she hated to admit it, she was yet again scared. However in amongst all of the fear her common sense knew that this was a time when immediate action was needed. In a hushed voice Sam called out to the one person who she knew could help her.

"Dylan, wake up, I think someone's broken into the boat."

Silence only followed.

"Wake up Dylan," she hissed. "You're being burgled!"

Again there was no reply.

Cursing her ex-husband's ability to sleep through a World War Sam reached out to shake him awake only to grab a handful of sheets.

Very much confused she scrambled for the switch on the bedside lamp. A warm glow filled the room with a low light. Turning towards Dylan's half of the king sized bed she realised why he hadn't replied. He wasn't there.

Sam's feelings of fear subsided when it became obvious that Dylan was the one making all the noise. However, that didn't calm her levels of confusion one bit. What the hell was he doing at this time of night?

Curiously Sam slid out of bed. The cold floorboards sending shivers through her body. Sub consciously grabbing one of Dylan's old flannel shirts she put it on, wrapping it tightly around herself and hoping that it would warm her now freezing body.

Making her way towards the door a strong, sweetly smell drifted Sam's way. It smelt like... like vanilla? With every passing minute Sam was getting more and more confused.

The door swung open to reveal a sight Sam never thought she would have seen as long as she'd lived.

Dylan was sat against the kitchen counters in his pyjamas. In his arms rested a large bowl which contained a goopy substance which Dylan was mixing messily. Some of the mixture had splashed onto his face with splotches across his cheeks and nose. The counters around him littered with various pans and ingredients. What looked like other rounds of baking sat upon a cooling rack beside the fridge. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that the spillage on the floor was linked to the noise she woke to, most likely Dylan dropping a tin of cake batter repeatedly.

It was only then that she spied a string of Christmas lights loosely strung across the sofa and shelf. As weird as they were, they gave the room a nice feeling. On the other hand, this situation only seemed to be getting stranger.

He looked up from his mixing and met her gaze, looking a bit surprised to see her standing there.

"Oh Sam, I did mean to wake you I was just..." He was only half done talking when she interrupted.

"It's 3am, why are you baking a cake? And what's with all this mess and the fairy lights?"

"I'm celebrating the death of my sleep schedule and sanity. Want a cookie?" His voice was flat and he never looked up from his baking as he spoke. Sam couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"Fine," she replied. She was still very much confused but her tiredness meant that she was willing to go along with whatever Dylan had planned.

He gestured to a tray at the end of the counter beside the cake rack. Sliding a few onto a plate, Sam curled up on the sofa and began to eat. They weren't the best but she had to admit that were also not the worst she had tasted.

Whilst she snacked she watched Dylan slide a tray of cakes into the oven before he joined her in the living area, collapsing down into his chair. It was only after he sat down that Sam began to notice little things that seemed off about Dylan.

His face was pale like snow, as if he had been spooked by a ghost. He kept fidgeting and Sam was sure that she could see his hands shaking. Every so often he would steal a quick glance at her but it would only last a few seconds before his gaze returned to the book he had retrieved from his messy shelf. She was sure that his attention wasn't on the book.

They sat together, not saying anything, both tired and just needing to rest. However, their relaxation was short lived.

It was the smell she noticed first. It burned her nostrils and clouded her breathing. The kitchen. She turned to be met by the scene of the oven, smoke leaking out from behind the door.

"DYLAN," Sam called out frantically. "DYLAN THERE'S SMOKE COMING FROM THE OVEN!"

With one look Dylan leapt from his seat, his footsteps drowned out by the smoke alarm as it detected the smoky air. He flung open the oven and pulled out a tray of blackened lumps. He screeched loudly as the tray fell to the ground, burnt cake flying everywhere. He had forgotten to put on oven gloves.

The skin on his hands looked red raw with blisters forming on the damaged skin of his palms.

Sam could now see him visibly shaking on the spot like a terrified puppy. She took him gently by the wrists and guided him over to the sink to run water on hands. He shuddered due to the initial pain but soon relaxed as the water cooled his hands.

Without saying a word she quickly tried to take control of the mess as he returned to his seat. With a brush in hand she swept everything into a pile before dumping it into the bin. Next she had to focus on Dylan.

Using his first aid kit she sat down in front of him and began to treat his hands. She first patted them dry before covering each of his palms with bandages. Slowly wrapping them with care, she tried to be as gentle as she could. This was never going to be an easy process. When she reached a particularly bad area Dylan winced in pain. The initial shock seemed to have worn off meaning that the pain was becoming stronger.

"Sorry," she apologised in a soft voice, "This will be over soon I promise." In the hopes of reassuring him she gave him a slight smile. However it had quite the opposite effect.

Dylan floored Sam completely by bursting into tears. She had never seen him cry, not once. Had she underestimated the amount of pain he was in? It must've been agony if he was in a state like this.

"I'm so sorry, I'll just..."

The open first aid kit lay on the table behind her and she knew there would be something helpful for Dylan inside it. As she went to turn her movements were stopped by Dylan grabbing her wrist. He brought her back to face him, his eyes staring with tears still pooling at their sides. Sam watched as he reached his bandaged hand up to her cheek. His undamaged fingers stroking it gently.

"No I'm sorry."

What was he talking about? The burns had been an accident, he couldn't have helped that.

"Dylan?"

"You are always so brave and reckless. Ready for danger and running into it's grasp with not a care in the world. I worry about you. Worry that you'll hurt yourself beyond repair. I never know what will happen but I thought that whatever happened I'd help stop your pain."

He was working himself up into a worse state, the tears flowing more steadily and his body shaking more heavily. Sam try to quieten him but he shook his head in defiance. Whatever it was, he was insistent on continuing.

"But when I saw you outside, all alone and crying, I realised that I've messed up. Then later, when we were sleeping, you kept thrashing around and crying out. I tried to calm you down but you wouldn't wake up. You were so scared, trapped in a nightmare. I was scared. Still am to be honest. Scared that I've let you down. Scared that you're suffering nightmares and flashbacks alone. Scared that you think I don't care when I do. So much. How am I meant to show you that I care if I can't protect you from your fears?"

He sagged in defeat, looking so broken and lost. Sam threw her arms around Dylan's neck, lying her head against the side of his. He was in all this pain over her? She couldn't help but let the guilt consume her.

"It's okay," Sam mumbled soothingly, "I'm not hurt anymore, you can stop worrying about everything now."

"But I can't!" He cried. "You don't understand, it's not that simple."

Releasing Dylan from her hold she sat back to look him desperately in the eyes.

"Then let me."

With a nod from Sam, assuring him that whatever he said she wouldn't judge, he relaxed slightly and started to talk.

"I have these thoughts that come into my head, they start off small but gradually they get bigger and bigger till they're all I can think about. God they're sometimes so loud that I can't sleep. It's like little voices in my brain convincing me that something bad will happen if I don't do things a certain way. If I don't triple check the door then the dog will escape, stuff like that."

His voice grew from a mumble as he found the strength to speak on.

"They used to be about various things; work, the shopping, the dog, but since you came back everything's been about you."

He met her gaze and smiled weakly.

"If I don't tap my pen on the desk three times then you will get hurt. If I don't run my fingers over my knuckle ten times then you'll be attacked. I followed them through in the past, worrying that you would be injured if I didn't. It wasn't rational in the slightest, I knew that, but I couldn't ignore them. Lately I haven't had any big ones so I've tried to learn how to be in control. But last shift a big one came. For the first time my conscience won and I managed to believe that it would be fine, nothing would go wrong."

He linked his hand properly with hers, sadness filling his voice as he spoke.

"Just look what happened to you when I did!"

Dylan fell silent. It was at that moment that Dylan's words from earlier began to have a whole new meaning.

_"I'm celebrating the death of my sleep schedule and sanity."_

She had thought it was just one of his witty jokes.

"That... that sounds like..." she didn't know how to word it, her ideas feeling too forward in every way. Dylan took the words right from her mouth.

"Obsessive compulsive disorder," he muttered, "or OCD but it's the same thing really." He tried to look away in shame but she wouldn't let him. Catching his cheek in her hand, she eased his face back to facing towards her.

"You don't need to be scared Dylan. There's nothing shameful about having a war happening inside your brain." She sighed. "I've had to learn that the hard way. You can't always make it stop, I do understand that, but you can sometimes find ways to quieten it."

"That's what the baking was for," he mumbled in embarrassment, "as strange as it is it helps me to focus on something else other than my two sided brain."

He pauses for a second. "Now you know about me can I ask you something, about the umm flashbacks, how do you cope? That is, if you cope with them?"

He looked at her inquisitively and she sighed before nodding her head in acceptance. He had a point.

"I did then I didn't but now I mostly do again."

Her answer was too vague and Dylan looked at her clearly confused so she tried explaining it further.

"When I originally came to Holby they calmed down then around the start of 2013 my PTSD flared up again. I didn't tell anyone though, I battled on alone. No one noticed anyway so I saw no reason to tell them. After coming back here it's become better to manage. So I guess I do cope in a way, probably not the best way but I do cope."

"I'm glad you're doing better but you still haven't answered my first question. How do you cope?"

Sam fell silent. How would Dylan handle knowing? It could add another level of pressure to him. On other hand it could be the reassurance he needed to help him believe that she would be alright. The last thing she wanted to do was to make life worse for him, especially after the revelation of his own mental state. With Dylan beginning to look concerned at Sam's lack of words she came to a conclusion. He deserve to know the truth

"Seeing you."

His eyes widened ever so slightly and his body stilled. Whatever he had expected to hear it had obviously not been that.

"When I see you I'm reminded that I'm not out there in hell. I'm safe back in England, with you by my side. You're..."

A phrase she had used years ago came to mind. The question of 'Why did you come to Holby Sam?' had arisen and she'd tried to tell him about everything then. It had been one last attempt to see that he still cared for her and instead he'd used it as a way of jabbing at her.

Things had changed since then, she now knew that he did in fact care, always had. However the reason she came to Holby in the first place still remained the same for her return.

"You're my safe harbour. With you, I can try to win the battles in my mind."

Dylan chuckled slightly, taking Sam by complete surprise. Squeezing her hand he smiled softly at her. "Post Traumatic Stress and OCD, what a right pair we must make."

Sam smiled slightly at his attempt of ending the conversation on a happy note. It worked as it became apparent that neither of them had anything more to say, allowing the room to fall quiet. They gazed at each other. So many secrets had come to light and they suddenly understood each other so much more.

Their daze wass shattered by Dylan knocking his unbandaged hand against his chair. He winced again, his hand tensing up in pain. Immediately Sam leapt back into action and finished her original task of treating his burns

When she was done, Sam returned the kit to it's place beneath the sink and Dylan stood up too. Their silence was no longer awkward or on edge like it once was, it was better, with an unspoken pact to be there for the other having formed. They both returned to the bedroom, needing nothing more than to let their tired bodies rest.

Sam felt her eyes become heavy, the exhaustion finally taking over once more. The bed creaked as Dylan shuffled in behind her and pulled her close. Her head came to rest against his chest and she fell asleep to the soft beat of his heart.

* * *

Morning came eventually, the light soaking through the curtains and filling the room. Sam woke up again, this time to the sounds of birds not banging. With Dylan's arms around her a miracle had occurred. The noise in her head had stopped completely. After hours of continuous torment and torture it felt nice to have her mind back.

Moving slightly to get more comfortable, she accidentally knocked Dylan, causing him to stir and wake up too.

Looking around at him she sees his deep blue eyes gazing back at her. The one thing that tells her that she's safe from her own mind, the same applying to Dylan himself, is clearly show... His smile. Big, wide and full of care. She can't help but smile too.

* * *

Word count- 3657


End file.
